


Song of Sorrow

by wrenblack



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 04:23:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6455707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrenblack/pseuds/wrenblack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duty has kept him from her for two years, but the Inquisition can take care of all that now. Alistair has a letter and a map to follow, and his lady love to meet. </p><p>(My version of the post DA:I reunion.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Song of Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to Elle King's album when I was writing my first Dragon Age fic and so it came to be associated with Alistair for me. "Song of Sorrow" particularly for some reason, so if you're interested you can listen to it here:   
> https://youtu.be/JcENI4One6c
> 
> And if you're curious about the letter the Warden wrote, you can find it here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/6017179

It was Alistair’s fifth night in this small town on the edge of the Wastes and as he sat brooding, drink in hand, he started to wonder if he shouldn’t just go looking for her already. Victoria’s letter had come to him through the Inquisition months ago and she had very probably moved out of the area since then so he knew it was foolish to hope she would be waiting for him when he arrived. Yet he had followed her map just the same; what else could he do? She had given him nothing more to go on. By revealing nothing significant about her journey she meant to protect them both, make it impossible for the wrong person to hunt her down. Except it also made it impossible for Alistair to hunt her down. So he’d spent the last few days wandering in an ever widening radius around the town, wanting to search but hesitant to leave their rendezvous point. If he struck out in the wrong direction they'd never find each other. 

 

Finally arriving at this place felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, though. The way forward was an abyss and she was out there where he could not get to her. Despite the fact that like him, the constant song in her mind must have quieted, he knew she would never stop hunting for a cure, however far afield it took her. Since this false Calling began, she had become fixated on finding a way around it once and for all. She kept saying, “I refuse to succumb. It is too soon. It will always be too soon for us.” The legends and rumors of a cure had led her so far West that he couldn’t even say what kingdom they were in anymore. He could see no reason for her to linger here, as there was no discernible connection to her quest in  _ this _ little town.

 

This is why he had not wanted her to go without him. He had wanted to do this together but she felt they should take responsibility for the rest of the Wardens. As usual, she convinced him to do things her way. But it didn’t sit well with him this time; it made his stomach feel sour and his chest heavy and tight. Lost to the Calling or lost to this damned quest it made no difference, he felt like he lost her the minute he let her go. So he drank a little on nights like tonight, foregoing ale for something stronger just to help him sleep. And there had been too many nights like tonight in the two years since they’d parted. 

 

He was nursing his second and contemplating the narrow straw bed awaiting him upstairs when he heard a minstrel in the front room begin to play. The fingers on the lute strings lacked finesse, out here at the edge of nowhere one could not exactly expect a bard of the royal court, but he found the music companionable and settled in to listen.

 

There was something familiar in the clumsy little tune, and it was that more than the alcohol which eased his anxious heart. He finished his drink slowly and was lulled toward sleep by the songs and sounds floating to him in the back room. He’d decided it was about time to call it a night when the player picked out the first few notes of Alistair's favorite song, their fingering becoming stronger and more confident. Hearing that music made his heart lurch, taking him back to a campfire more than a decade gone. 

 

_ Leliana was trying to teach Victoria the skills of a Bard, but his lover seemed to lack the subtlety required of a true Orlesian spy. She is too brash and outspoken to blend in, too candid to keep even her own secrets. She is not a sweet singer either, and fumbles with the lute. Much as he loves her, he has no illusions about her talent as a Bard, and thankfully neither does she. It is clear from the start that Leliana is fighting a losing battle, and soon the exercise will be abandoned. Yet upon learning of Alistair’s love for the old Fereldan ballads, she insists on continuing her lessons. She only ever masters his favorite “Song of Sorrow” through sheer force of will alone. And how she loves to play it for him, so proud that her fingers almost never falter and her voice can actually find the notes. _

 

These memories were so strong in his sleepy mind that he could swear the voice singing was hers. It had the grit of too much use and not enough care, as that of one who nearly shouts when she speaks. But when it smoothed, its timbre was smoky and rich. There was a ragged edge when she sang, “I can't seem to find my way back home,” in the first chorus that was painfully intimate to him. So like Victoria, the home that he longed to find his way back to. It struck him odd then that a minstrel out here would known such an old Fereldan folk song. He suddenly discovered he was very much awake and not even a little drunk, yet still he heard his lover’s voice.

 

Hope nearly choked him as he stumbled from his chair to the doorway of the large common room. The singer sat on a bench by the hearth, her hair glowing sunny in the firelight, her sad dark eyes watching her hands carefully as she played. Victoria had never been sure of the lute strings, no matter how many times she sang him this song. Seeing her there so close gave him a moment of vertigo and he clutched the doorframe for support. She was here and she was whole. 

 

“Weak and wide eyed my pride is swallowed, I'm beggin' for my heart's last beat,” she sang, closing her eyes in a long sighing blink. She looked so tired, so lonely, and he longed to touch her face, but he could wait just a little more. He wouldn't have stopped this song for all the world. “And I’m repaying oh, the time I borrowed so forever the sorrow song I sing.”

 

She struggled through the first refrain of the final chorus and stopped, her hands laid the lute aside and she hung her head. There was a sad sort of stillness to the room. Alistair couldn't bear to let her song go unfinished, so in his unsure baritone he sang a refrain into the quiet. “Chantry slingin’ man I can't seem to find my way back home.” Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice, her eyes wide and wet. “It's been hundred years, I've no idea which direction to go...”

 

She laughed when she saw him, her smile wide and dimpled, and the room spun around him again. She stood and sang,“... to cease my song of sorrow.” Then she ran to him, joyful and clumsy, tripping over confused and bemused tavern patrons. She jumped at him, throwing her arms around his neck and wrapping her legs around his waist. “Oh you're here. You're really here,” she said peppering his face with kisses, her relief making her silly and girlish. 

 

He squeezed her tight to his chest, and when she kissed him full on the mouth, he unashamedly pushed his tongue between her lips. She tasted like ale and the dust of the road and heaven. Someone whistled, someone else hooted, and a few people clapped. He heard the innkeeper chuckle, “Let's hope that's the husband.”

 

She broke the kiss and dropped to her feet, pressing her cheek to his chest. “Yes, this is the husband,” she said. Husband, huh? He'd have to ask her about that later. 

 

Burying his nose in her hair, he breathed deeply her smell. “I am never letting you go again,” he said, “not ever.”

 

“Damn straight,” she pulled back a bit and beamed up at his face. “Maker’s breath but you are beautiful. I'd forgotten how beautiful you are.”

 

He stroked her hair away from her brow and kissed her forehead, “Back atcha.” They stood like this for a time, just holding each other and he reveled in the realness of her body against his. It occurred to him eventually that they were perhaps not the only two people in the world, and actually not even the only two in the room. And right now he did not want to share Victoria with anyone. “I uh… I have a bed upstairs. I mean there's a bed in my room - I took a room here. Upstairs. It would be more private.”

 

“Private is good,” she said and he could hear the mischief in her voice. 

 

“Shall we -?” he began.

 

“Oh yes.” She took his hand and eagerly pulled him up the stairs, more laughter and whistling following them. 

 

They practically ran down the hall to his little corner room, fingers knotted together, enthusiastic like the youths they were when they first met. He directed her to his door by pressing her against it, pinning her with his body. His mouth dove for her neck, finding the spot just below her ear that always drove her wild. He sucked and bit, intent on leaving a mark thinking, “Mine mine mine,” all the while. His reward was a soft high, “Ah!” escaping her lips. 

 

She opened the door behind them and with a hand on the back of his neck pulled him inside the dark room, kissing him hungrily. Her hands were in his hair, her tongue opening his lips, her teeth dragging his lower lip into her mouth. He tried to kick the door shut but lost his footing and they crashed forward. He knocked her into the wash basin table on the opposite wall, water slopping all over her back and legs. 

 

“Well that's one way to get me wet,” Victoria said laughing at him. “Not the one I'd have preferred…”

 

Alistair steadied himself with a hand on the wall behind her head, laughing into the crook of her neck. “Is this where I say something about getting you out of those wet clothes?” he asked, dragging his mouth along the top of her shoulder. He unclasped the belt around her waist, letting it fall to the floor, and slid his hands up under her damp tunic.

 

She stopped laughing at the touch of his hot hands on her cool skin, her breath catching. “Yup. Too many clothes. All wet.”

 

He tugged the tunic up over her head, tossing it aside. She scrabbled at his shirt trying to undress him as well, but he stepped back. “No. I want to see you.” He turned from her to light a candle on the small bedside table, and he heard her pull the draperies open roughly to let in the moonlight. When he turned back, she had removed her breast band, kicked off her boots and was in the process of tugging her leggings off. They were bunched halfway down her thighs and she was pulling at the ankles trying to free her legs from the damp, clinging fabric. He couldn’t help but laugh as she struggled.

 

“What? You wanted to see me - here I am!” she said, standing and spreading her arms wide, leggings pooled at her feet. Subtle like a warhammer was this woman, standing brashly in the middle of the room, nearly nude and clearly impatient. The candle light on her bare breasts and the moonlight at her back made her look almost unreal, like the Victoria a desire demon would conjure from his mind. She was very nearly glowing.

 

“And Maker how I’ve missed you.” He closed the space between them in two steps and took her face in his hands to kiss her deeply. Just to make absolutely sure she was really real.

 

She grasped his hardening cock through his breeches and he gasped into her mouth, breaking the kiss. “Someone certainly has,” she said, snickering. He pressed his forehead to hers, locking her gaze as he rocked into her palm. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and it made him want them on him. Anywhere. Everywhere. 

 

A needy growl rumbled in Alistair’s throat and he captured her mouth again, his hands coming down her back and crushing her body to him. Her skin always felt so impossibly soft and he wanted to touch every inch of it this night. He slid his hands along her sides and slotted them under her arms to lift her off her feet. She locked her fingers behind his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist, her warm center resting on his aching cock. Alistair groaned and Victoria whined at the contact, there was just too damn much fabric between them and he aimed to be rid of it. 

 

When he turned and laid her down on the bed, though, he did not take into account its narrowness and her head banged into the wall. “Fuck! Ow!” Her body released him reflexively, her feet dropping to the floor on either side of him.

 

“Oh Maker! Love I’m so sorry,” he said, their hands meeting to rub the spot she’d hit, her eyes watering. “Are you alright?”

 

“Perfectly. Now I get to see  _ two _ of you,” she said through gritted teeth. 

 

“Two? Of me? I don’t think you could handle that much raw manliness.” The banter! Oh Victoria had brought the banter back with her!

 

“Why don’t you let me show you just how much I can handle,” she said as she brought her legs up to squeeze him tight against her once again. He was glad her desire had not been abated by his gracelessness, though he knew from experience it would take a lot more than a bump on the head to cool her fire.

 

Rather than belabor the moment, though, he decided to occupy his mouth elsewhere and proceeded to kiss and lick his way from her shoulder to her collarbone down to suckle a large full breast. One of her hands was in his hair, fingers kneading his scalp, the other gripped his shoulder nails digging through the linen. He bit and nipped and then took a whole nipple into his mouth to suck the pebbled flesh. She wriggled beneath him, her back arching more with each ragged breath. He twisted her other nipple between his rough fingers and she whined, her grip on his hair becoming mildly painful.

 

“Too slow,” she said and ground her sex upward against him, “I need you inside me  _ now _ .”

 

He looked up at her and smiled, grabbed her hips and jerked her smalls down her legs tossing them aside with a flourish. The look she gave him burned. Biting her lip, she dipped her fingers into herself and thumbed her clit. “Sweet Andraste woman,” the words came out of him in a growl, from there is was all a frantic attempt to get his clothes off as fast as humanly possible. 

 

Her fingers never stopped as she scooted up the bed, watching him strip. When his erection sprang free of his now uncomfortably tight breeches, she actually licked her lips like a predator. “I am going to enjoy devouring that.”

 

“Oh yes?” he asked pushing her knees up to her chest as he climbed onto the bed in front of her.

 

She slid under him onto her back, “Later. But for the love of Andraste you need to fuck me right n-- aaah.”

 

Alistair sank into her, taking just a moment to savor the tight satin heat of her cunt before thrusting in earnest. He had spent himself in his own fist many nights remembering how good it felt to be inside her. Memory hadn’t done it justice. His hips rolled forward in long hard strokes eliciting the most beautiful whimpers from his love’s mouth.

 

She kept pulling her legs up, trying to tuck her knees under his armpits. Knowing what she was after, he hooked his arms so the back of her calves rested on his biceps, peeling her lower back off the mattress and allowing him hit her just that much deeper. Grabbing him by the back of his neck and pulling his mouth to hers, through the ghost of a kiss she whispered, “Alistair.”

 

It was the first time he had heard her say his name in years, and he needed more. “Say it again,” he said almost begging.

 

“Alis--tair.” Her voice stuttered as he rocked into her. 

 

“Again.” Demanding.

 

“Alistair.”

 

“Again.” Commanding.   
  
Her head dropped back. “Alistair Alistair Alistair,” again and again his name like a chant, growing louder as his thrusts came faster and harder. It stirred something primal, hearing her call for him like that, and he was determined to bring her to release with his name on her tongue. The rest of the tavern would hear her cries and know she was his. 

 

Taking his weight on one arm, he brought his other hand down to the place where their bodies joined and worked his thumb roughly over her slick clit. Her whole body shuddered at his touch and her hand came to grip his buttock as he drove into her, pulling him in as he pushed. Nails digging into his flesh, she came nearly screaming and it sounded enough like his name to be satisfactory. Her aftershocks clutched at his cock and he quickly followed her to climax, her name an equal shout on his lips.

 

Panting, he rolled off of her as much as the narrow bed would allow, his body sandwiched between her and the wall. Once freed of his weight she went slack, one limp leg dropping over the side of the bed. For a while they just lay like this, catching their breath, their bodies tangled up in each other. 

 

Still half atop her, Alistair pillowed his head on his arm to watch her face, so wonderfully and atypically free of worry. “Tell me my dear,” he said, “how long have I been your husband and why was I not informed of the happy occurrence?”

 

Victoria laughed, “You mean what the innkeeper said?”

 

“Yes, that.”

 

“Well,” she said shifting to lay on her side and entwining her legs with his, “I didn’t want to start rumors that the Wardens are looking for a cure, so I’ve been making my way as a minstrel. I’m rather a poor musician, but I do get by, and people are more willing to tell me tales that might be helpful. Entertaining at inns and taverns means drunks making passes, though, and rather than fight them I would tell them about you, saying you were my husband. Though truthfully, in what way are you not?”

 

“In that we have never been married,” he said, not for the first time wondering why that was the case.

 

“Well no … we never found time to stand up in a Chantry and say the words, but for my part I live those vows with you every day. As I intend to do for the rest of my life, however long that is. And unless I am mistaken, I believe you intend the same.” Victoria did not sound defensive, but he felt a certain petulance in her words.

 

“Of course I do. But -” Alistair stopped, he didn’t want an argument now, not when he had just gotten Victoria back. And yet he knew their chaotic life might not give him another chance at this conversation, “But it matters to me to take Andraste’s vows before the Maker. And to have that ... public declaration.” Her face was inscrutable which made him very tense because it occurred to him that he had sort of just casually proposed. Ten years and more together, no question that they both understood it to be forever, and yet here he was unsure and anxious, fidgety even.

 

She stilled him with look, her deep brown eyes so steady and, twining her hands in his hair, kissed him soft and deep. With a smile she said, “They are mostly Andrastian out here. I’m sure we can find a Chantry and have the Revered Mother make it official.”

 

“So you’ll marry me?” he asked, pushing her sweat damp hair back off her forehead. 

 

“Next chance I get,” she said simply. He suddenly felt a bit foolish, if it was this easy why in Andraste’s name hadn’t he asked her before?!

 

In a moment like this Alistair felt romance should be poetry, but giddy as he’d been all night instead his kiss was a greedy and passionate thing. She responded in kind, eagerly pawing at his back and buttocks, breasts pressed to his chest. The way he pushed her mouth open to breathe her breath, the way her tongue chased after his, the clash of their teeth like swordplay, Maker he was having fun! 

 

They squirmed and groped like randy teenagers, and Alistair knew he’d be ready to take her again quite soon. He brought his knee up between her legs pushing his thigh against her quim, still wet or wet again he didn’t know. Moaning into his mouth she began to rock, her own thigh grinding on his burgeoning erection. Their kisses became shallower as their breathing got heavier and eventually she broke free panting for air. 

 

Before he could plan his next salvo, her mouth was on his neck working its way up to take an earlobe between her lips and suck. He hummed his pleasure, a low sound in his throat, and she traced the shell of his ear with her tongue whispering, “I love you,” before dipping it into his ear. The breathy grunt this earned her made her chuckle. “Shall I show you where else I can put my tongue to good use?” she asked, the hand currently on his ass slipping over his hip to grasp his length.

 

“If you like,” he said nonchalantly. With a little shuffling he positioned himself under her, arms stretched up, hands cradling his head, allowing her full access to whatever part of him she might desire. Releasing the hand wrapped around his cock, Victoria drifted down his body raking her nails over his chest. She took her time, clearly enjoying each gasp and twitch she evoked by licking an overly sensitive nipple or tickling his skin with a phantom caress. When she finally reached her destination crouched between his legs, he felt like her mouth and hands were touching every part of him except his cock, which was now fully erect and desperate for attention. “Please,” he said, the rasp in his voice now far from casual. 

 

Her breath was hot on his skin as she placed open-mouthed kisses at the base of his cock. Taking it in hand she swiped her thumb over the tip and smeared a bead of precum over the head, the other hand cupping his sac. The touch of her mouth and her fingers was still so delicate it made him break into goosebumps all over. He trembled a little trying to thrust up into her loose grip and at last she gave in, pressing his shaft to the wide flat of her tongue as she ran it up the underside. One long lick and she took him into her mouth fully, purring as she sucked him deep. The vibrations of her throat on his skin were incredible and he let out a guttural moan saying, “Yes, thank you.” It was wickedly slow, the pump of her tight fist over his hardness and the sweep of her tongue over its head. She kept him rocklike with her torturous ministrations and just when he thought he could not take any more, she stopped. He whined as she lifted her head off him.

 

“Mmmm. I do so enjoy that,” she said. He propped himself up, curious as to her nefarious plan. She was sat back on her haunches drinking in the sight of him laid bare before her, his tumescent shaft resting solidly on his abdomen. She locked her dark eyes on his amber ones and said “Have I told you how beautiful you are?”

  
“Yes. Now dammit woman get on with it!” he said, sitting up. Victoria smiled at him with such genuine affection when she climbed onto his lap then that he thought maybe she did love him more than she loved teasing him. At least slightly. 

 

Draping an arm over his shoulder and clinging to his back, she guided his cock to her entrance and settled herself down on it. Her low moan mirrored his own as the silken grip of her pussy engulfed him. They kissed soft and slow, their bodies hovering in a breath of stillness, and then gently she began to rise and fall, dragging her clit against his abdomen. Alistair could not remember the last time he’d felt as good as he did in that instant, hugging her to his chest, sunk deep inside her. 

 

Victoria surged more and more insistently against his body, and he planted a hand on the mattress behind to steady himself, palming her backside with the other as she rode him. He gave it a sharp quick smack to encourage her, winning him a gratifying little yelp. So he did it again and leaned back on his hand to better enjoy the view of her all flushed and panting, head thrown back, breasts bobbing heavily. It occurred to him rather quickly that she had already taken him nearly to the edge with her mouth and he was likely to tip over it well before she did. And he simply couldn’t have that. 

 

By the small of her back he pulled her snug to his stomach and brought his steadying hand unsubtly up to her mouth. Grinning he pushed two fingers in, which she happily and sloppily sucked as she fucked him, his grin apparently contagious. Looking him square in the eye, she slowly and purposefully dragged his wet fingers out of her mouth. She bent his forefinger down, took the other larger one back between her lips and mimicked the actions she had so recently visited upon his cock. He groaned at the memory and twitched inside her, making her jump. 

 

His finger sufficiently lubricated, he took it back and gripping her rump in both hands stilled her in his lap. Her forehead came to rest on his shoulder as she squeezed her chest flush to his. He probed about with his middle finger until he found her other opening, her rough breath whimpering at his teasing. He pushed firmly against the slight resistance and his large digit slid gently into her ass. 

 

A tremor ran through her body. “Fuck,” she said, more a grunt than a word, her nails digging into his back and the nape of his neck. 

 

He bucked up into her spurring her on saying, “Come on, Baby. Move,” his voice a dry rasp. 

 

And so she rode him with renewed vigor. Her hands clasped behind his neck, forehead pressed to his, she rutted hard against him. In moments her sex was pulsing around his member and he practically throbbed in sync. Anyone passing in the hall would surely have heard the music they made, the melody of her gasping cries blending with his groan’s husky cadence, underlied by the rhythm of skin meeting skin. A more beautiful song he could not imagine, certainly none either of them could make alone.

 

Alistair didn’t know who came first, but the moment the grip of her cunt on him tightened and she sang out his name he was crushing her to his chest and spilling himself inside her. She sagged against him and he lurched up into her once or twice more, spending himself entirely, before collapsing back onto the thin mattress. He gingerly pulled his finger out of her, his softened cock slipping from her as she cuddled to rest on his body.

 

With the room stuffy and humid, the smell of their exertions thick in the air, the sweat on their skin still flush together was rapidly becoming uncomfortable. Clearly she felt the air in the room as cloying as he did, because she lifted herself off him with a sigh and went to open the window. Her hips swayed just a little more than usual those few steps across the room, for his benefit he was sure. Once the panes were flung wide to let in the welcome night air, she perched on the sill and looked out over the wasteland that separated them from their homeland, from Orlais and Fereldan.

 

“I suppose now the fun’s over, we should probably talk about all that’s happening in Thedas. I’ve been gone so long,” Victoria said, her voice resigned.

 

He knew they would have to eventually discuss Warden business, decide how to proceed now they were the ranking officers in the whole of Thedas. He also knew that she’d be most keen to hear about his encounters with Morrigan and their child Kieran. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell her all that just yet. Not tonight.

 

“Yes love, we should. But I don’t want to just now,” he said sitting up. “It’s serious and important,” he said, adopting a grown-up voice and a fake scowl, “and I would rather take tonight to bask in the joy of being with you.”

 

She nodded, “That does sound much more appealing.”

 

A thought occurred to him and he laughed, “Though there is one bit of news I do think you’ll find amusing.”

 

“Oh?” She shifted on the sill to look at him and raised an eyebrow.

 

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the Chantry  _ named _ a new Divine.”

 

She cocked her head, “Well yes … I did hear of Justinia’s death. Eventually they had to name a successor.” He knew she was waiting for the punchline, but he was enjoying drawing this out. 

 

Having trouble keeping the smirk off his face he said, “Of course, yes. But there’s … something else.”

 

“Well who  _ did _ they chose, then?”

 

“Her Right Hand.”

 

“The Petaghast woman?”

 

“Cassandra, yes. She was part of the Inquisition’s inner circle, too. Probably that helped.”

 

The more they talked the more confused she became, “It’s an interesting choice to be sure, but I still don’t see -”

 

“It’s the name of the Divine, my dear. The  _ name _ ,” he said.

 

“And what name did the clerics choose, my darling,” the squint of her eyes and the tone of her voice indicated that she was finding this all highly suspicious. It tickled him immensely.

 

“The clerics have called her ... Divine Victoria.”

 

“They have not!” she said standing up, indignant.

 

“Oh yes, they have,” Alistair’s grin was now in full control of his face. “The official Chantry decree said something about the time of Justice being done and now is the time of Victory for Andraste’s people. And then something something, it’s an age of heroes, which I suspect is the clerics trying to associate the Chantry with the Hero of Fereldan.”

 

“You’re serious,” she said, and he nodded quite smug. “I’m not sure how I feel about this,” she said, looking rather unsettled. She crossed the room to where he lay on the small bed, leaving the window wide behind her. “Budge over.” Alistair put his back to the wall and made room for her beside him, and she spooned comfortably into his arms. “Though staying away from Fereldan now doesn’t seem quite so bad as it did, so perhaps it’s alright.”

 

“You do think we’ll be out here for quite a while, then?” he asked.

 

“I thought we weren’t having the serious important discussions tonight? Just basking in the joy and all that,” she said.

 

He squeezed her deeper into his embrace and said, “Right you are.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks once again to @anjaka for the beta read.


End file.
